


How To Let You Go

by potat0S



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Angst, Death, Drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 17:31:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potat0S/pseuds/potat0S
Summary: After being freed from the Phantom's torture chamber, Raoul is locked in a cell while Christine makes her final decision. But he is not Erik's only prisoner. A retelling of the end of the book, where, rather than Philippe dying off-page, Raoul is there to witness it.





	

 

The stone was cold and rough, it stood to reason that the cell was nowhere near as clean and well-kept as the rest of the Monster’s little apartment. As soon as he had hit the floor, Raoul turned, intending to rush at Erik, to get out of the cell, to find Christine and take her far away.

But he never got that far.

Erik had shut and locked the barred door before Raoul had even got to his feet. A roar of fury left the Vicomte, though it came out like a cry of despair. Through the bars, despite the mask, Raoul could see a wicked grin on Erik’s face.

“Goodbye, Monsieur le Vicomte, I hope you have a pleasant stay.”

Falling to his knees once more, Raoul felt like he was sinking into the stone. Tears were in his eyes – it seemed he could no longer go a day without crying – and he did nothing to stop them from falling.

That man, that thing had Christine. And there was nothing he could do to help her. And though he knew she was brave, far braver than he was himself, he couldn’t imagine how frightened she must be.

And then he heard something. Something coming from behind him. Lifting his head, Raoul squinted into the darkness, raising a fist, should he need to defend himself. But he listened hard, focusing on the noise. On the word and the voice.

“R- Raoul?”

“… _Philippe_?”

Raoul rushed to the other side of the cell, falling to his knees beside the body slumped against the wall. Even in the dim lighting, Raoul could see that his brother was soaking wet, his hat, tailcoat, and shoes all gone, his waistcoat hanging open, and his shirt torn. And he was horribly, frighteningly pale.

“My God, Philippe, what are you doing here? What happened?” Raoul moved to support the older man, putting an arm around his shoulders to try and help him sit.

But the moment he moved his brother, Philippe began to cough horribly, and Raoul froze.

“I c- came after you,” Philippe rasped, trying to sit himself, but falling back against Raoul. “When Miss Daaé vanished, I knew you would g- go after her. I found the tunnel behind the mirror, I could not let you go alone, I-” The Comte was interrupted by another bought of coughing, and water spluttered out of his mouth. Gasping for air, a hand clutched at Raoul’s arm. “I c- c- could not let anything happen to you.”

Without even realising it, Raoul had begun to weep silently. This was his fault. Philippe had gotten hurt because of him. “Philippe, what did he do to you?”

“I was swimming,” Philippe replied, his voice so quiet that Raoul could hardly hear it. “There was no b- boat, I tried to swim across the lake. Something dragged me down, I could not… I c-” More coughing, more water. Philippe’s entire body shuddered.

“Shush…” Raoul whispered, tightening his hold on his brother a little, trying to comfort him. It had never been this way around before, all the times that they’d been this close, it had been Philippe comforting Raoul.

The smallest of smiles came to Raoul’s face as he thought about one such occasion. It was one of his earliest memories, in fact. “Philippe, do you remember when I was five, and my train set broke?”

Through the low lighting, despite his now near-constant coughing and wheezing, Raoul could see a similar smile on his brother’s face.

“I thought you might never stop crying,” Philippe replied, his body momentarily relaxing at the memory. “You carried that little broken train around with you for hours, weeping quietly. Not even Delphine making her little pastries would console you. And we offered you each of your other toys, but you would not take them. You loved that little train.”

“Papa gave me that train,” Raoul said, the smile fading. “On my birthday. I thought… I thought he would play with it with me. But he just went back into his study.”

There was a silence, broken only by Philippe’s coarse breaths.

“I am sorry, Raoul. Father never… He never recovered from mother’s death, but that wasn’t your fault. He didn’t blame you, not truly…” In all honesty, Philippe knew that he was lying. After Raoul’s birth, their father had refused to even hold his baby son, had referred to him only as ‘that thing’… It hurt Philippe to even think of it.

“I remember you picking me up, and you took my shoes off so that I would not dirty your suit,” Raoul said, not wanting to talk about their father. “And you promised that you would get me a new train.”

“But even that didn’t settle you,” Philippe smiled. “You wanted that exact train. Your sisters and I must have dried your tears a dozen times that night.”

“You fixed it, though.”

Philippe managed a small, weak laugh. “I did. Badly, I might add. I never was a carpenter. But I knew how much you loved that little train. I knew what it meant to you. And I wanted to see you happy, _mon frère_.”

Raoul held him a little tighter. “Thank you, Philippe. I would not be the man I am if it weren’t for you.”

“Yes, you would. Because you are a good man, Raoul, a g- good m- man, and I-” He began to cough again, gargling and choking for breath, his grip on Raoul’s arm getting weaker and more desperate.

Philippe knew what was happening. And he was frightened. But he could see that Raoul was even more frightened, and he wanted to offer his little brother what little comfort he could in his final moments.

“Live well, _mon Caneton_ ,” Philippe whispered, pulling Raoul as close to him as he could. “Live well, and be happy. Tell your sisters, I lo…”

He didn’t finish the final word. Philippe tried to take one last, shuddering breath. But he couldn’t. Gasping and gulping a few times, he suddenly stopped. And his eyelids closed. And he relaxed. And a trickle of water ran from the corner of his mouth.

“No!” Raoul clutched at his big brother, grasping his shirt, shaking him, tears dripping down his cheeks and falling into Philippe’s hair. “No, Philippe, please! Wake up, please, please!”

It occurred to him that Philippe probably would have told him not to beg, that it wasn’t becoming of someone in their positon.

But Raoul didn’t care.

“Philippe, wake up, wake up! Don’t leave me… Please, don’t leave me… Philippe…”

The only response he received was the quietest of laughs from outside the door, and his own sobs.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from this beautiful poem: http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/poem-for-my-big-brother


End file.
